In the last 2 years ive learned, adapted and accepted so much about self. About the new me. The new life I'm intended to lead. Though I cant helpbut miss pieces of the old me. The unaware, misguided, blissfully ignorant me.

Without going into the horrifically long story of how I got to this point, this may seem a bit scattered and nonsensical but I'm okay with that.

Ive reached the point in my post-diagnosis period that I'm starting to mourn the loss of my old self....

no emotions felt, no words spoken, no definitive real... no self to identify with, no narrative explanation, defined or undefined purpose. all trust placed in that cheshire cat grin floating in the abstract. A world of appearances, of trust in probability, of unshaken belief, of outstanding lies and misguided truths. everything crumbling, crumbling...

A single shrill may disrupt all comfort found in the following silence.